Times have changed
by BossaNovaBaby24
Summary: Adama reflects on the President's betrayal. set during the episode Home part 1


**Authors Note**

**First ever BSG fan-fiction so its not perfect. Review if you want, I really don't mind either way to be honest. Its your call. **

**Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. I'm playing with these characters instead of playing in Alluvial Deposits.**

**Ship: slight A/R**

**Set during Home part 1 (I think)**

Adama walked back towards his quarters, grunting from the exertion. The wounds in his chest from the bullets were healing now, but the wound in his heart from betrayal was still open. A gaping hole left inside himself. _Better not think about it, _He thought bitterly to himself, saluting the guards outside his quarters without noticing, and making his way inside, _much more important things to be thinking about._

Seating himself at his desk, Adama took the first file off of an alarmingly increasing stack of reports. Flicking to the first page of it, he began to read, with meticulous care. Anyone who didn't know him would think that the Commander was encompassed within the report, taking in each and every detail of what was being said.

Adama's eyes flickered over the same sentence once again. He was not taking in any of the words. Throwing the file down on the desk in a sudden fit of anger, he sighed and looked around his quarters.

He was drawn to the couch in front of him. How many times had they sat there, discussing certain topics? Water rationing, food shortages, fuel deposits. It seemed only a few moments ago, when he would look up and see her, shoes off, pacing the floor with her hand clasped tightly together, recounting important issues from the meetings she had before. Gritting his teeth, Adama slowly got up and walked over to the couch. There was bottle of Ambrosia left on his coffee table. Picking it up and taking a swig, he settled himself down on his couch.

Times had changed. _And with it, _thought Adama, _a third of my fleet. _

But it wasn't the loss of many ships that bothered him. No. It struck deeper than that. The betrayal of Laura. That cut him deep. Not that he'd admit it. No. Because doing that would open up other doors, and he wasn't ready to do that. Not yet. Not after that, especially.

Resting his head back against the wall above the couch, he let thoughts flood his mind.

_Pouring drinks, Adama turned around to the sound of President Roslin sighing. Taking a glass off of him, Roslin smiled in gratitude and began pacing his quarters, stopping every so often to look with interest at certain objects that he had acquired._

_Moving up beside her, Adama noticed she had stopped to look at a few of his medals._

"_William "Husker Adama." She whispered, touching one medal, almost reverently. Turning around, she stopped and realised the close proximity in which they found themselves. Adama took a step backwards and allowed her room to move. _

_She seated herself on the couch, crossing her legs and holding the glass of Ambrosia precariously. He joined her on the sofa, sitting closer than two leaders of humanity should, but enjoying the closeness none the less._

"_So," Roslin said quietly, focusing her stare on him, "why the nickname 'Husker'?"_

_Adama took a measured sip before replying, "My voice. Always deeper than the rest of them. More gravely. Thought they were being funny I suspect."_

_Roslin laughed lightly, and returned her focus to her drink. A silence crept up, engulfing them. After what seemed an eternity, she quietly stated;_

"_For what it's worth Bill, I like your voice."_

Pulling his thoughts away from that moment, Adama stared across his quarters, searching for the same medal that Roslin herself had seen. It stood on display, hanging next to his model ships.

Moving towards his model ships, Adama picked up an uncompleted one and set it down on the table. Picking up a fine brush, he then moved towards the intercom. He couldn't keep the feeling inside him any longer. Someone had to help him shoulder the burden, anyone. Someone had to listen to his troubles and not tell anyone. Someone trusted, he decided.

Picking up the intercom, he spoke clearly,

"Send Petty Office Dualla to my quarters immediately."

After relaying the message, Adama sat down and gritted his teeth. Picking up his brush, he began work on the model ship and awaited Dee's arrival.


End file.
